Attention: everyone who thinks/reads, please look away. I am about to talk about sports.
Wally Szerbiak reminds me that some of the best looking ballplayers have the most inscrutible names.
HSO: If you put me and Shaquille O'Neal in the same sized body, and we played a game of one-on-one, I would win.
HSO2: Smaller basketball players have had to work harder to be successful; they've had to develop skills more diligently. The percentage of skilled basketball players decreases as the players become taller. The Kevin Garnetts, Dirk Nowitzkis, and Akeem Olajuwons are the anomalies. Big players have less skill.
Monday, January 31, 2005
ugh! Holy foes, superfriends--I caught the teevee on again. On it was Smarmfest Local Weather Guy. One thing that's patronizing and annoying is when they tell me what I want the weather to be like.
"We'll have snow flurries tonight, but don't worry: things are looking up tomorrow, as temperatures will climb back into the mid- to upper-forties."
"Lots of rain on the way this weekend--it's going to be an ugly one."
Come on! Is it at least CONCEIVABLE that someone could actually enjoy something other than bland, milquetoast weather? Why assume that I always want it dumbed down to middle-of-the-road? I mean, honestly.
JEERS, NOT CHEERS! THIS IS MY BEEF!
"We'll have snow flurries tonight, but don't worry: things are looking up tomorrow, as temperatures will climb back into the mid- to upper-forties."
"Lots of rain on the way this weekend--it's going to be an ugly one."
Come on! Is it at least CONCEIVABLE that someone could actually enjoy something other than bland, milquetoast weather? Why assume that I always want it dumbed down to middle-of-the-road? I mean, honestly.
JEERS, NOT CHEERS! THIS IS MY BEEF!
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Remember Sweet Daddy, from Good Times? He was the friendly, well-meaning pimp with a tooth, er, heart of gold. Anyhow, there was a hilarious turn of events in Norman Lear's magnum opus in which we find Sweet Daddy laid up in a wheel chair, headed to the hospital. He had fuzzy dice on his IV hanger! Sweet Daddy, when asked about his ensuing visit to the medical world, confessed with aplomb (characteristically referring to himself in third person) that "Sweet Daddy's afraid of needles!" This was not one of the more dramatic moments on Good Times (like when Florida smashes the punch bowl and yells, "DAMN DAMN DAMN!" when she lets herself feel the depth of pain from James Evans, Sr.'s untimely death while working on the Alaskan pipeline), yet it revealed a vulnerable side of teevee's face of the prostitution industry, at least at that time.
If you think I could talk about Good Times all day, you're right. But I'm not going to do that. Instead, I'm going to parallel Sweet Daddy Williams' experience with my own. Yesterday, accompanied by my old and good friend Shane "Sweet Daddy" Miller, I went to a dirty, dismal Urgent Care office and receive innoculation for both typhoid and tetanus. I think I remember reading about people dying in terrible pain from typoid, but I don't remember anything about tetanus. Yet it's such a popular innoculation! Whatever. I was a little dubious about the whole "you take a slender piece of metal loaded with a potent chemical liquid that could potentially kill me yet about which I couldn't be more ignorant, then puncture my fragile skin with said metal, filling me full of poison" thing, since I hadn't had one of those experiences in maybe 15 years. Oh sure, I was soothed by the promotional posters that littered the dirt-tinged walls ("Travelling to the Carribbean is pure ecstacy. Lime disease isn't."), and I was delighted to find the Highlights magazine in the rack of old Woman's Day and People rags. [Allow me to digress. To me, the Highlights magazine is one of the commonalities of life in America that tells me I'm safe, I'm surrounded by people who care, and I'm NOT a Goofus, crassly hanging up on people when I dial a wrong number. I'm a Gallant, for crying out loud, and I will APOLOGIZE for cripes' sake when I accidentally call someone I don't know! Highlights not only supplies me with all the hilarious riddles that make the sun shine bright (Q: What time is it when 7 tigers are chasing you? A: Seven after one!), but it keeps my finding-what's-wrong-with-this-picture skills razor sharp. Highlights is tame, predictable, and perfect for the youngsters, as well as, I hasten to add, the youngsters-at-heart.] But none of that prepared me for the pain of those shots. Friends, it hurt. And I paid $113 for that pain. I even went a little sweaty and woozy for about 3 minutes after the jab, which was a little unsettling. But I made it. My body has absorbed the 1ml of poison/medication they stuck in me. And I wonder: can the scientific brains that have given us Guacamole-flavored Doritos (tm) Snack Chips NOT produce medication in pill form that will replace shots? How hard could that be? We already have pills, people--we're getting all sorts of chemicals through the pill and the caplet. I'm just saying, the technology is there.
But like I say, I recovered. The word on the street is that I bled like the Dallas Maverick defense when they pulled the steel from my poor arm, though I never dared to look, and yet I stumbled out into the icy Ohio winter, better off? for it. So like the Sweet Daddy of yore, yes, I was a mite squeamish about receiving the Medical Spear into my person. But UNlike Sweet Daddy, and this is what I want you to remember from my story, I am not a pimp, trafficking in the immoral and illegal business of prostitution.
If you think I could talk about Good Times all day, you're right. But I'm not going to do that. Instead, I'm going to parallel Sweet Daddy Williams' experience with my own. Yesterday, accompanied by my old and good friend Shane "Sweet Daddy" Miller, I went to a dirty, dismal Urgent Care office and receive innoculation for both typhoid and tetanus. I think I remember reading about people dying in terrible pain from typoid, but I don't remember anything about tetanus. Yet it's such a popular innoculation! Whatever. I was a little dubious about the whole "you take a slender piece of metal loaded with a potent chemical liquid that could potentially kill me yet about which I couldn't be more ignorant, then puncture my fragile skin with said metal, filling me full of poison" thing, since I hadn't had one of those experiences in maybe 15 years. Oh sure, I was soothed by the promotional posters that littered the dirt-tinged walls ("Travelling to the Carribbean is pure ecstacy. Lime disease isn't."), and I was delighted to find the Highlights magazine in the rack of old Woman's Day and People rags. [Allow me to digress. To me, the Highlights magazine is one of the commonalities of life in America that tells me I'm safe, I'm surrounded by people who care, and I'm NOT a Goofus, crassly hanging up on people when I dial a wrong number. I'm a Gallant, for crying out loud, and I will APOLOGIZE for cripes' sake when I accidentally call someone I don't know! Highlights not only supplies me with all the hilarious riddles that make the sun shine bright (Q: What time is it when 7 tigers are chasing you? A: Seven after one!), but it keeps my finding-what's-wrong-with-this-picture skills razor sharp. Highlights is tame, predictable, and perfect for the youngsters, as well as, I hasten to add, the youngsters-at-heart.] But none of that prepared me for the pain of those shots. Friends, it hurt. And I paid $113 for that pain. I even went a little sweaty and woozy for about 3 minutes after the jab, which was a little unsettling. But I made it. My body has absorbed the 1ml of poison/medication they stuck in me. And I wonder: can the scientific brains that have given us Guacamole-flavored Doritos (tm) Snack Chips NOT produce medication in pill form that will replace shots? How hard could that be? We already have pills, people--we're getting all sorts of chemicals through the pill and the caplet. I'm just saying, the technology is there.
But like I say, I recovered. The word on the street is that I bled like the Dallas Maverick defense when they pulled the steel from my poor arm, though I never dared to look, and yet I stumbled out into the icy Ohio winter, better off? for it. So like the Sweet Daddy of yore, yes, I was a mite squeamish about receiving the Medical Spear into my person. But UNlike Sweet Daddy, and this is what I want you to remember from my story, I am not a pimp, trafficking in the immoral and illegal business of prostitution.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Today in Almaty, Kazakhstan, it is -3 degrees Farenheit, with a light snow. Almaty is a full 11 hours ahead of my world time understanding here in Whoville, Ohio. Almaty is quite near Kyrgyzstan (that would KILL if proper names were allowed in Scrabble, America's favorite Crossword puzzle game), which is, I think we can all agree, a Made Up name. It's also quite close to China, as you can see on the map above, if you're into maps. Almaty means Father Apple, so now your understanding has been significantly broadened. See?
I once had some missionary friends who served in Mongolia, which looks awfully close to Kazakhstan on a global map, so it's probably within 10,000 miles or so. Anyhow, in Mongolia my friends had to get used to drinking yak fat (yes), since Molgols give this to people who visit them, in a show of kindness and total disregard for triglyceride and cholestrol levels. They told me once that they put foods outside on their balcony if they needed to be frozen, and that, if one were experiencing a runny nose, one need only go out for a walk to solve the problem. I don't know what frozen snot feels like, but I can't imagine it tasting much worse than some of the horrific combinations they cook up at those Hawaiian Snow joints in front of strip malls in the summer. I mean, how is there a Tiger Tail flavor? That's not a flavor!
I will be visiting Almaty next month, as I've been invited there for a mission conference. I expect my time in that country, where the average person makes $1,150 a year, to be enlightening and affecting. You can talk to God about my time there coming up, or as I like to say, PRAY IT FORWARD. That's a little comedy I've thrown in for you today, which is pretty hilarious. Okay, enough ridiculous joking. Here's the thing: I have just filled out a visa application that looks like the cover of Ghost in the Machine.
Should I tell them about my plans to convert their questionable industrial systems into a giant Steven Statue Making Machine, right on the visa application? I daren't.
I will tell you this: getting out of one's own culture, if even for a few hours, is sooooo good for the soul. It kinda has the same effect as fasting. It reminds a body that you're not the center of the universe, your needs are not the most dire, and that you've been given much, much more than your fair share. I really like the change of pace that causes me to learn things just so I can find an unhumiliating place to take a leak, or have to ask favors of people via hand gestures just to know which bus I need. I think it's good for me. This also reminds me of the encouraging fact that my spirit sometimes DOES win over my flesh. Sometimes I work to put it in its element, instead of working so hard to make my body happy. That's not at all an unfamiliar concept for believers around the globe, but for us, it's a significant lesson. So here's to being free, as the song says, and here's to killing off that flesh, as one of my heros would say, by any means necessary.
http://www.kazakinfo.com/Default.aspx?tabid=48
Monday, January 24, 2005
People who can't fit in a bed with a footboard- unite! Rise up against the fascist regime of bedmakers and their mute followers, the bedbuyers!
I never said I'm too good to sleep on the floor. I never said that. Truth be told, I prefer sleeping near the ground, though not necessarily ON it. I'm not too good to sleep on the floor; I'm too SOFT. I wasn't always this way, but I was married a habit-forming while ago, and I have already observed somewhere that women like things comfortable and accommodating. I really want to sleep with my wife, so I sleep in the same bed she uses, which is comfortable, accommodating, etc. In this way, I'm becoming less of a commando-style rough-and-ready male, and am, to be blunt, more feminine than ever. I don't doubt at all that this is the Will Of God. But here's to being easy to please, just the same. I'm not too good to sleep on the floor.
And another thing. Hey everybody who just HAS to answer your blasted phone every time it plays its over-the-top-clever song at you: ease up. Relax. Take a sedative. It's true for the phone in your tote bag, and it's true for the phone in your home- you can afford to let it rest once in a while. I release you from the fear that it's always going to be SOMETHING IMPORTANT. You know what?- it's not. Answer the phone when you have time, or when YES! you really DO want to talk to that person, or when you're just curious or whatever. But we have to stop the phone fear. I'm taking a stand today. Will you join me? I have symbolically cut the umbilical cord from me to my phone by taking the spark plug cables in my car and rending them with heavy wire cutters. I declare my freedom. Join me in taking a stand against phone fear. Let them ring! Let them ring from the hills in San Francisco to the hush puppy factories in Tallahassee. Let them ring on every recharge stand and place-in-your-office-where-you-put-your-phone. Let them ring!
I never said I'm too good to sleep on the floor. I never said that. Truth be told, I prefer sleeping near the ground, though not necessarily ON it. I'm not too good to sleep on the floor; I'm too SOFT. I wasn't always this way, but I was married a habit-forming while ago, and I have already observed somewhere that women like things comfortable and accommodating. I really want to sleep with my wife, so I sleep in the same bed she uses, which is comfortable, accommodating, etc. In this way, I'm becoming less of a commando-style rough-and-ready male, and am, to be blunt, more feminine than ever. I don't doubt at all that this is the Will Of God. But here's to being easy to please, just the same. I'm not too good to sleep on the floor.
And another thing. Hey everybody who just HAS to answer your blasted phone every time it plays its over-the-top-clever song at you: ease up. Relax. Take a sedative. It's true for the phone in your tote bag, and it's true for the phone in your home- you can afford to let it rest once in a while. I release you from the fear that it's always going to be SOMETHING IMPORTANT. You know what?- it's not. Answer the phone when you have time, or when YES! you really DO want to talk to that person, or when you're just curious or whatever. But we have to stop the phone fear. I'm taking a stand today. Will you join me? I have symbolically cut the umbilical cord from me to my phone by taking the spark plug cables in my car and rending them with heavy wire cutters. I declare my freedom. Join me in taking a stand against phone fear. Let them ring! Let them ring from the hills in San Francisco to the hush puppy factories in Tallahassee. Let them ring on every recharge stand and place-in-your-office-where-you-put-your-phone. Let them ring!
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Maybe it's too easy to just put up stuff I'm making up, but I doubt it. After all, this isn't here to be hard for me. It's here to tell some of my friends what I'm thinking. Here's something I was thinking this past week:
Down with religion, down with lies
Down with the fools who say they are wise
Down with hate for a fellow man
But up with love
Down with institution and the promises they make
Down the the prostitution of our passion for their sake
Down with theives claiming care
But up with love
Down with my addiction, all this living for myself
Down with all your money if you think it's gonna help
Down with all your morals, man
But up with love
Down with self-corruption and the guilt that it brings
Down with the sweet seduction of sleep and apathy
Down with innoculation
But up with love
Down with accusation, how it got me again
Down with the preacher saying life is a sin
Down with manipulation
But up with love
Give me love to rule my world- love knows best
Give me love to rule my world- hang the rest.
Down with religion, down with lies
Down with the fools who say they are wise
Down with hate for a fellow man
But up with love
Down with institution and the promises they make
Down the the prostitution of our passion for their sake
Down with theives claiming care
But up with love
Down with my addiction, all this living for myself
Down with all your money if you think it's gonna help
Down with all your morals, man
But up with love
Down with self-corruption and the guilt that it brings
Down with the sweet seduction of sleep and apathy
Down with innoculation
But up with love
Down with accusation, how it got me again
Down with the preacher saying life is a sin
Down with manipulation
But up with love
Give me love to rule my world- love knows best
Give me love to rule my world- hang the rest.
Friday, January 21, 2005
ODE TO SNOW
In praise of snow, who steals in, light
She touts neither her will nor might
But, steady as a heart, she comes
And clothes the ochres, rusts, and plums.
Yes, not by overpow'ring force:
Steadfast and delicate, her course
Till everything is buried low
Beneath perfection: sky white snow
I know a girl who, too, can blot
Erasing, slowly, every spot
And filling scars and cov'ring dirt
And meding fractures, healing hurt
Her vict'ry's not in one great blast
For sin demures, but love will last
Now blanketed by beauty so
I must confess my praise of snow
In praise of snow, who steals in, light
She touts neither her will nor might
But, steady as a heart, she comes
And clothes the ochres, rusts, and plums.
Yes, not by overpow'ring force:
Steadfast and delicate, her course
Till everything is buried low
Beneath perfection: sky white snow
I know a girl who, too, can blot
Erasing, slowly, every spot
And filling scars and cov'ring dirt
And meding fractures, healing hurt
Her vict'ry's not in one great blast
For sin demures, but love will last
Now blanketed by beauty so
I must confess my praise of snow
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
You know what I think? I think boys and girls are different. Here's why:
My wife let me see her naked yesterday.
No, no. I jest. There's more to this post than incredible comedy. To wit:
I went to a fancy wedding this past weekend. I sang at it, which is such a win, people. This means that you get to enjoy seeing a wedding take shape, get a couple of really nice meals out of the deal, sing your sad little song or two, then you're out, clean. It's great. Anyhow, as I was dining on a meal that surely cost over $50 at the rehearsal dinner, I was thinking a very male thing in my very male noggin. Don't get me wrong, I was enjoying that delicious steak and pee-turning asparagus, but I was thinking "I don't think I'd be a lot less satisfied with a delicious Freebird BRAND backwards R burrito. And they cost, last time I checked, about six bucks. There's not a confident heterosexual male among us that wouldn't go along with that statement: yes, a nice $50 meal is a treat (IF there's plenty of food served), but I'm pretty sure that I'd be just as satisfied with one of those really tasty Mexican Pizzas that Taco Bell produces for $3.50. Okay, yes, I might have to buy a second to fill out the tummy space, but I have the financial margin to make that happen. And, at the end of my Taco Bell/Backwards R meal, I'm $40 better off. Give me a two meat plate at Spring Creek BBQ, and I could not conceivably be happier with some fancy dan french food. Impossible.
Yet, my friends, it is not so with the women folk. They couldn't care less if they were brought Wendy's Chicken Nuggets (which, I'll be honest with you, are delicious when coupled with their weird clear hot chili sauce), if those selfsame nuggets were served on linen doilies with classical guitar music playing the background, if they got to dress up to eat them. They would happily spend $40 of your hard-earned dollars to make that happen. Women are unconcerned with the food itself (which is ludicrous, I think we can all agree), they just want to feel splurged upon. Now, this is a little kooky, but my brothers, I can unveil for you a Wonderful Secret. Because the above is scientific fact, I give you the Gospel of Courtship: If A Brother Goes To A Great Deal Of Trouble For A Very Small Thing, It Will Often Be Seen As A Very Great Thing. Please write this down on a bar coaster or body part near you now. This is invaluable advice for us all, married or not. For example, I once cleared out my apartment living room, used a scarf as a table runner (I'll explain what that is one on one for any unmarried readers), grabbed a small lamp and stuck it in the middle of the table, and fancily made the table up with paper napkins and unmatched bowls. At the end of a date, me and Didi came back to my place, where I unveiled the intimate table (which revealed FORETHOUGHT and EFFORT, two monumental aspects in the courting strategy). I then served $2.99 worth of wonderful Toffee Bar Crunch ice cream from Cincinnati's own United Dairy Farmers. It's a strange name, but it's really very good ice cream.
I was rewarded with muchas smooches that night, gentlemen, because I understood the above maxim that you now have written on your wrists. Yes, women will have you waste a lot of money over the course of your lifetime on overpriced food. But, if you understand why they waste your money, you can have the good, plentiful, and economical food as WELL as their admiration. I'm telling you- it's worked for me, and it can work for you too.
My wife let me see her naked yesterday.
No, no. I jest. There's more to this post than incredible comedy. To wit:
I went to a fancy wedding this past weekend. I sang at it, which is such a win, people. This means that you get to enjoy seeing a wedding take shape, get a couple of really nice meals out of the deal, sing your sad little song or two, then you're out, clean. It's great. Anyhow, as I was dining on a meal that surely cost over $50 at the rehearsal dinner, I was thinking a very male thing in my very male noggin. Don't get me wrong, I was enjoying that delicious steak and pee-turning asparagus, but I was thinking "I don't think I'd be a lot less satisfied with a delicious Freebird BRAND backwards R burrito. And they cost, last time I checked, about six bucks. There's not a confident heterosexual male among us that wouldn't go along with that statement: yes, a nice $50 meal is a treat (IF there's plenty of food served), but I'm pretty sure that I'd be just as satisfied with one of those really tasty Mexican Pizzas that Taco Bell produces for $3.50. Okay, yes, I might have to buy a second to fill out the tummy space, but I have the financial margin to make that happen. And, at the end of my Taco Bell/Backwards R meal, I'm $40 better off. Give me a two meat plate at Spring Creek BBQ, and I could not conceivably be happier with some fancy dan french food. Impossible.
Yet, my friends, it is not so with the women folk. They couldn't care less if they were brought Wendy's Chicken Nuggets (which, I'll be honest with you, are delicious when coupled with their weird clear hot chili sauce), if those selfsame nuggets were served on linen doilies with classical guitar music playing the background, if they got to dress up to eat them. They would happily spend $40 of your hard-earned dollars to make that happen. Women are unconcerned with the food itself (which is ludicrous, I think we can all agree), they just want to feel splurged upon. Now, this is a little kooky, but my brothers, I can unveil for you a Wonderful Secret. Because the above is scientific fact, I give you the Gospel of Courtship: If A Brother Goes To A Great Deal Of Trouble For A Very Small Thing, It Will Often Be Seen As A Very Great Thing. Please write this down on a bar coaster or body part near you now. This is invaluable advice for us all, married or not. For example, I once cleared out my apartment living room, used a scarf as a table runner (I'll explain what that is one on one for any unmarried readers), grabbed a small lamp and stuck it in the middle of the table, and fancily made the table up with paper napkins and unmatched bowls. At the end of a date, me and Didi came back to my place, where I unveiled the intimate table (which revealed FORETHOUGHT and EFFORT, two monumental aspects in the courting strategy). I then served $2.99 worth of wonderful Toffee Bar Crunch ice cream from Cincinnati's own United Dairy Farmers. It's a strange name, but it's really very good ice cream.
I was rewarded with muchas smooches that night, gentlemen, because I understood the above maxim that you now have written on your wrists. Yes, women will have you waste a lot of money over the course of your lifetime on overpriced food. But, if you understand why they waste your money, you can have the good, plentiful, and economical food as WELL as their admiration. I'm telling you- it's worked for me, and it can work for you too.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
In a news story that I just CAN'T leave be, boxing promoter and wordsmith Don King has now sued ESPN for the princely sum of 2.5 BILLION dollars. Billion, people. Billion.
Now, you may be shocked at this number. You may think "but Don King WAS convicted of murdering people. If that's reported, how's it slander? Also, is the possible defamation of a murderer's name worth the GNP of several small nations?"
Oh, wah wah wah. Stop that sniveling over there. I'M with Don King. As he succinctly puts it: "I seek justice". That's obviously all he's after, and who can't support that?
I have a friend named Ronnie who's thoughts are about a thousand times more entertaining than mine (see moljunior.typepad.com only if you're serious about being a happy person). Ronnie actually ENJOYS people like the moronic, self-serving Randy Moss, while they chafe my chaps all day. Ronnie is surely pleased about this train wreck of a man as well.
http://msn.foxsports.com/story/3317086
Now, you may be shocked at this number. You may think "but Don King WAS convicted of murdering people. If that's reported, how's it slander? Also, is the possible defamation of a murderer's name worth the GNP of several small nations?"
Oh, wah wah wah. Stop that sniveling over there. I'M with Don King. As he succinctly puts it: "I seek justice". That's obviously all he's after, and who can't support that?
I have a friend named Ronnie who's thoughts are about a thousand times more entertaining than mine (see moljunior.typepad.com only if you're serious about being a happy person). Ronnie actually ENJOYS people like the moronic, self-serving Randy Moss, while they chafe my chaps all day. Ronnie is surely pleased about this train wreck of a man as well.
http://msn.foxsports.com/story/3317086
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
My Didi and I are going to be teaching a little class tomorrow night to almost/newly marrieds, and we wanted to use a movie clip for illustrative/humor purposes. This is because we are clever and current. In any case, I went to the video store to aquire said film footage. I had a nifty Free Video Coupon, which I brandished with pride, since we don't frequent the rental strore and feel cheated anytime we give them cash (why? The public library, the greatest American public resource, will lend you its massive storehouse GRATIS. The only catch is that it's not as exhaustive as the neighborhood video store...).
So, confident and sane, I walk in, find my film, and go to the register to yield my coupon for remission. This video chain, which rules about 90% of the rental business as well as, I believe, a major college football bowl game, proved to me that it is a little, well, French (read: awkward and frustrating to deal with). The Adolescent Cashier Chick told me that I wasn't in the System. For those of you who live on Mars or, alternately, Idaho, this is a moment that strikes fear in all would-be patrons. When you're not in a System, it means that your identity has no corresponding UPC symbol; you are a non-entity. As you know, when one doesn't traffic with the Beast, one cannot work and move freely in the End Times World. Adolescent Cashier Chick (ACC) asked me if I'd traffic with the Beast in the last 6 months, and I had to tell her no, I had been a Deviant. With no small amount of disgust, she told me that if I wasn't in the System, I would have to re-apply for entry into the Beast/System.
Undaunted, because I NEED THAT FILM TO BE WITTY AND CURRENT, I said that yes, I would re-apply for entry. Discerning further deviance, she immediately asked me if I possessed a Funds-Verifying, Code-Bearing Strip affixed to a chit that I could supply her. There was one requirement: this "credit card" HAD to be attached to no bank account. I cannot imagine why this is, but wonder if it has something to do with the massive lawsuit slapped on the Video Monolith for unlawfully sending people's account information to collection agencies, before notifying them that they had outstanding debt. Anyhow, I sheeplishly admitted that no, I don't have a Funds-Verifying, Code-Bearing Strip that is Not Attached To A Bank Account. I dislike debt, and don't want to be involved with it. That's a world I don't traffic in, as well. For review:
SYSTEMS JIMMY DOESN'T TRAFFIC IN
1) The Video Monolith
2) Debt Due To Video Rental
Exasperated, ACC announced that, unless I was the phenominally rare person who carried around a utility bill with my name and address on it (um, okay, MASSIVE EYE ROLL), I would be locked out of the System/Beast. I inhaled deeply, collected my belongings, and walked away.
Should I be proud? Should I be happy that I don't bear the mark of the beast? Well, I don't FEEL proud. I feel put out. I feel like I have no access into the system. But, if there's anything valid about all the theories Gene Hackman threw around in Enemy of the State (and I'll confess right here that I'm apt to believe absolutely ANYTHING Gene Hackman says), I might should feel relieved. I'm anonymous and unknown, at least to this one outlet of the System. In any case, I had to enlist a friend to go use my free coupon and get the movie for me. Amazing.
NEXT WEEK: Why Radio Shack requires every piece of personal information (including my marriage date, driver's license number, mother's maiden name, and favorite breakfast cereal) to sell me a battery.
So, confident and sane, I walk in, find my film, and go to the register to yield my coupon for remission. This video chain, which rules about 90% of the rental business as well as, I believe, a major college football bowl game, proved to me that it is a little, well, French (read: awkward and frustrating to deal with). The Adolescent Cashier Chick told me that I wasn't in the System. For those of you who live on Mars or, alternately, Idaho, this is a moment that strikes fear in all would-be patrons. When you're not in a System, it means that your identity has no corresponding UPC symbol; you are a non-entity. As you know, when one doesn't traffic with the Beast, one cannot work and move freely in the End Times World. Adolescent Cashier Chick (ACC) asked me if I'd traffic with the Beast in the last 6 months, and I had to tell her no, I had been a Deviant. With no small amount of disgust, she told me that if I wasn't in the System, I would have to re-apply for entry into the Beast/System.
Undaunted, because I NEED THAT FILM TO BE WITTY AND CURRENT, I said that yes, I would re-apply for entry. Discerning further deviance, she immediately asked me if I possessed a Funds-Verifying, Code-Bearing Strip affixed to a chit that I could supply her. There was one requirement: this "credit card" HAD to be attached to no bank account. I cannot imagine why this is, but wonder if it has something to do with the massive lawsuit slapped on the Video Monolith for unlawfully sending people's account information to collection agencies, before notifying them that they had outstanding debt. Anyhow, I sheeplishly admitted that no, I don't have a Funds-Verifying, Code-Bearing Strip that is Not Attached To A Bank Account. I dislike debt, and don't want to be involved with it. That's a world I don't traffic in, as well. For review:
SYSTEMS JIMMY DOESN'T TRAFFIC IN
1) The Video Monolith
2) Debt Due To Video Rental
Exasperated, ACC announced that, unless I was the phenominally rare person who carried around a utility bill with my name and address on it (um, okay, MASSIVE EYE ROLL), I would be locked out of the System/Beast. I inhaled deeply, collected my belongings, and walked away.
Should I be proud? Should I be happy that I don't bear the mark of the beast? Well, I don't FEEL proud. I feel put out. I feel like I have no access into the system. But, if there's anything valid about all the theories Gene Hackman threw around in Enemy of the State (and I'll confess right here that I'm apt to believe absolutely ANYTHING Gene Hackman says), I might should feel relieved. I'm anonymous and unknown, at least to this one outlet of the System. In any case, I had to enlist a friend to go use my free coupon and get the movie for me. Amazing.
NEXT WEEK: Why Radio Shack requires every piece of personal information (including my marriage date, driver's license number, mother's maiden name, and favorite breakfast cereal) to sell me a battery.
It's official: my snot is now electric yellow.
After smoking with the Spaniards, Licking all the handrails in London's underground, and not bathing with the French, I mysteriously picked up some sort of infection, which I believe is bacteria-based. Well, I've been through shades of green, brown, blood red (yes. I don't know how that happened), and orange, it's now the color of Funyons. But a little yellower. But I wanted to make the Funyons reference, so I did.
Like my fart smell-maker idea, I don't see why some dweeby engineer can't give us something to color our mucous for us. I can never HOPE to get BLUE snot without some aid of outside chemicals. Help me, Chinese people!
After smoking with the Spaniards, Licking all the handrails in London's underground, and not bathing with the French, I mysteriously picked up some sort of infection, which I believe is bacteria-based. Well, I've been through shades of green, brown, blood red (yes. I don't know how that happened), and orange, it's now the color of Funyons. But a little yellower. But I wanted to make the Funyons reference, so I did.
Like my fart smell-maker idea, I don't see why some dweeby engineer can't give us something to color our mucous for us. I can never HOPE to get BLUE snot without some aid of outside chemicals. Help me, Chinese people!
Saturday, January 01, 2005
The terrible I, Robot was showing on the plane. When it got toward the end and all the action happened where the robots go nuts and start smashing everything including the terrible Will Smith, I picked up some headphones. The plot was revealed in the last 20 minutes of the film (!), where we learn that the robots had concluded that the only way to save the humans was to rule them. Hollywood's response (therefore, the terrible Will Smith's) was "aw HELL naw! Ain't nobody gonna tell me how to be!" My thought is: being ruled by logical robot minds doesn't sound so bad, especially if they stop all our wars and fighting and all. I'm just saying.
Some of you think this is a TERRIBLE idea, almost as bad as Will Smith himself. Yeah, well you people are robophobes. I'm not.
Some of you think this is a TERRIBLE idea, almost as bad as Will Smith himself. Yeah, well you people are robophobes. I'm not.
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